Apple Pie Life
by pooh sticks
Summary: AU, in which Steven Rogers bakes pies and lives with a cat named George Washington, Natasha owns a motorbike, Sam likes pilates, and Bucky Barnes is a grungy party-boy who falls into their lives without a backstory. Together they must face the Oven of Doom, girl scouts, company vacations and the breakfast rush, as they try not to look too hard at the future. (Stucky)


**Apple Pie Life**

**A/N: The following is a funny little alternate universe fanfic for the characters of the Captain America films I thought up whilst waiting at a tram stop. It's not much, but all comments are very much appreciated. I will try and update about once every week or two, and there may be about ten or more chapters. Who knows? All rights belong to Marvel studios, only the plot and setting and probably awful takes on the young characters ****are mine. Enjoy!**

Steve dashed for the shelter of the Metro stop, holding his thin jacket above his head. His sodden jeans clung to his legs, and he could feel an ache in his chest that promised a cough in the morning.

The platform was empty but for a few faceless umbrella-holders, and he perched on the tiny bench and pulled out his phone.

Nat - _O__h great, it's raining. I s2g if you sneeze your fluids everywhere tomorrow you're a dead man_

He rolled his eyes and sniffled, shading the touchscreen from reflections.

_- When have you ever known me to get ill? I'm offended_

Nat - _Ha. Ha. Don't even._

At the muted screech of an approaching tram he peered out into the rain, but the yellow cars pulled into the opposite platform. The ever-unfazed voice from the speakers above announced delays due to waterlogged tracks and he grumbled internally, sticking his hands up his sleeves like a geisha.

He heard a splash behind him and turned just in time to see a gangling, punk-y teenager in Doc Martins vault the wooden fence from the car park one handed. His jeans were so skinny Steve was surprised he could walk, never mind hurdle, but the guy jumped down onto the tacks and sprinted across in a display that would have made any P.E. teacher shed a proud tear.

Without an inch to spare the hooded guy swung round the car and squished between the sliding doors into the vacuum-packed can of complaining commuters. The tram wobbled into motion and trundled out of the station, and Steve gave a silent cheer of vicarious triumph as two elderly umbrellas muttered disapprovingly nearby.

Then something caught his eye, floating in the shallow lake between the platforms. Checking he wasn't about to become victim to the world's lamest five-mile-an-hour tram accident, he scooped it out.

It was a wallet, and judging from the vintage Fall Out Boy logo he didn't think it was Mr or Mrs Umbrella's. He opened it to find a scuffed driver's license with a picture of a pale teenager, rocking chin-length hair and raccoon eyeliner, and the name 'James Buchanan' - the kid that just leapfrogged the fence.

He hopped back onto the platform with a huff just as the blunt nose of his tram rounded the corner.

* * *

><p>Steve pulled the door shut twice, trying to make the lock click, then took a drag of his inhaler. If he had to use it every time he climbed the stairs to his fifth floor apartment he was going to run out of refills in a fortnight, but there was no way in hell he was using the lift; the concentration of tobacco smoke in the air made him lightheaded, and there were... <em>puddles.<em>

Relaxing into his favourite, overstuffed blue cushion on the mismatched couch, he took out the mostly-dry wallet. It contained a twenty pound note, six-thirty in change, a sticky half-used sheet of stamps, a driver's license, a faded, sellotaped picture of a young couple and a toddler, and four mobile numbers in different handwriting on various brightly-coloured napkins.

He considered trying them - one had a little heart on it, after all - but then found written inside the pocket in marker pen, 'if lost please return to,' then three different numbers, two crossed out.

He typed the third into his phone.

_- I think I found something of urs - _he shook his head and backspaced - _yours on the platform earlier?_

Then suddenly paranoid that he sounded like a pickpocket, _I mean this was the number written on it, I think.__  
><em>

Then was caught in an internal struggle between wanting to explain and not being weird and sending ten messages to a stranger.

Grabbing the remote he flicked through until he found the history channel, and some pseudo-scientific documentary about Nazis. He couldn't help but check the alerts box every couple of minutes, even though he knew the phone would buzz if he got a message, but there was no answer. 'James Buchanan' was probably at the club like a normal twenty-year-old, not at home with his cat watching a show about the Red-Skull disaster.

As if on cue George Washington padded out of the kitchen with a reedy mew, and curled up next to him on the striped cushion. He stroked her downy fur absentmindedly.

Interacting with people was _hard._

Picking his phone back up he snapped a picture of the sullen license photo and clicked group chat with the icons at the top of his Facebook list; an over-filtered selfie of a redhead holding a tarantula to her cheek and a picture of a dark-skinned teenager in full paragliding gear, doing a muscleman pose.

Steven Rogers - _found this guys wallet metro w/u think? if i give it back am i gonna get murdered w/ an axe?_

Natasha Romanoff Malfoy - _Defo_

Sam the Man Wilson - _'If u don't repost within 10 minutes he will appear by your bed at 3am and GET YOU!1! Liek if u cry evrytiem'_

Steven R - _H__ahahh x)_

Natasha RM - _Maybe he just has RBFS_

Natasha RM- _Resting Bitch Face Syndrome_

Steven R - _D__on't say it bro_

Sam MW - _I'm not sayING ANYTHING_

Natasha RM - _Excuse me_

Natasha RM - _What are you implying_

Natasha RM - _Was that an insult_

Sam MW - _I SAID NOTHING these are baseless accusations I will be contacting my lawyer_

Natasha RM - _I have a bike I'll run you over asshole_

Steven R - _Yh__ Sam don't be so mean_

Steven R - _You know Nat worked very hard to make her face that terrifying_

Natasha RM - _What is this, the league of manly losers? I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE ROGERS_

Steve grinned to himself and flexed his thumbs for a biting reply, when an alert flashed up - _you have 1 new message._

Steven R - _U__h oh. Mr. Scary replied_

Natasha RM - _Don't__ do it man you have so much to live for _

Sam MW-_ Swear 2 god if you get involved with some horror movie shit I'm out _

Sam MW -_ The black guy always gets killed first_

Steven R -_ What does that make Natasha? The flailing damsel in distress? X)_

Natasha RM -_ Pffft hold up you wouldn't survive an episode of scoobie-doo. I'm clearly the hero in this situation_

Sam MW -_ Ye Stevie I gotta agree. With those hipster glasses you'd be dead meat as soon as you dropped them_

Natasha RM -_ Jinkies! XD_

Steven R -_ Oh my god this is harassment. Hello yes police these guys are buttholes_

Sam MW -_ Nooo I'm too beautiful for prison TAKE HER INSTEAD_

Natasha RM -_ EXCUSE ME_

He could tell this was going to get worse before it got better, so he switched to the new text. The overgrown cat next to him stretched with an insistent purr, her lamp-like eyes staring expectantly for a stomach rub.

Unknown number - _Who is this?__  
><em>

Cringing, he hurried to explain: _I was getti g the tram earlier and i found a wallet and i think it's yours because your phoene number was in it but there were a couple crossed out and some on napkins. It's mostly dry becasue i got it out pretty quickly after you kind of hurdled the tracks?_

His thumb hit the send button by accident and his eyes bugged with the weight of a thousand typos. Great, now the guy was going to think he was an idiot who couldn't even use autocorrect. He cursed his phone and his wonky fingers. The phone buzzed after a short pause, in which he watched the terrible acting and god-awful German accents on TV, stroked a purring George Washington and had a mild stress seizure about all varieties of human contact.

Sam and Nat didn't count as human, obviously.

Unknown number - _Oh kk :) phew I thought it'd been stolen_

Surely it was irrational to assume the guy hated his entire existence because he'd put 'kk', right?

_- Is there an address I should send it to/meet you at?_

Almost immediately, _No__._

Okay, that was definitely abrupt.

Unknown number - _I mean where do you live? I'm kinda in the central area, near Afflex gardens__  
><em>

_- You are? That's convenient, I work in the shopping centre right on the edge of the gardens, you could pick it up from there tomorrow if you want  
><em>

Unknown number - _Su__re :) thnks_

Steve sent the address and name of the shop, then hoisted his cat into the bedroom to act as a fluffy hot water bottle. She grumbled slightly at her relocation, kneaded the patchwork quilt into something more acceptable, and tucked her nose under her feather-duster tail. He quickly got ready, downing his pills and vitamins and throwing on his PJs, then slid under the covers, trying not to disturb the kitty that somehow took up the whole bed, and reset his alarm for 5 a.m.


End file.
